The Thief - Part 7

Something I read...

 The second one. Again a homeless shelter. This time I only had to endure the place for one night before following the nice, young volunteer home. He must have been in his late twenties; I think mummy and daddy must had been paying his was for his whole life, because he had a very smart flat that was within walking distance. Now, I’m not having a pop at the little git for being a pampered rich kid. Hell, it meant I got 700 pounds cash from his flat and 2,100 pounds from his ATM card throughout the week.  This second one got me thinking, though. No, not about the evil of it all; I’ve told you, I don’t have excuses. If people don’t check behind them when they unlock their door, or don’t know how to disarm a man with a knife, well, they pay stupid tax. No, it got me thinking that I should be hitting richer people.
What the priest had told me about the lack or repercussions was right. I’m even still living in my eigth victim’s house as we speak, typing this out. What I had to do was find a way of getting very well-off people to be just a little kind to me.  Then I could cut out their heart and harvest their wealth.
The answer was easy. Manners. People are so stupid for manners. Its can just be a “thank you” for holding a door open, or getting on the bus with a crutch and somebody giving up their seat for me, although I’ll be honest; bus kills are not very profitable. But mainly I hit the big posh hotels, or hospitals; lot of money in hospitals. Doctors find it hard to refuse helping people. Doctors are the jackpot. 15-hour shift, follow them home, and they’re far too tired to put up a fight. I love doctors; so caring, so kind. So rich and easy and weak, and as pathetic as the rest of them.

You may think I’m a bastard, but you have to admit, I can make the most of a bad situation. Truth is, now I wouldn’t change this life for the world. I get to steal and kill, and I never have to worry about the law even looking for me, let alone catching me.  Now I treat it like a job. But the kind of job you wake up to in the morning and you can’t wait to get to. I love the feeling of cold steel piercing weak flesh, the gurgle in the throat. And I’m so close to being able to look at the pathetic “why me?” expression on their faces without feeling hatred for them. Close, but not there yet.